Takes One to Know One

Chapter Three: One of These Things is Not Like the Others

Reese stepped forwards, then through the detector "doorway." The air around her flashed. Suddenly uncertain, she let concern draw her features as she turned back towards the professors. Dumbledore looked serene, McGonagall outraged. Snape was already examining a dial on the device.

"Really, Albus, you told us you'd been in contact with--"

"Miss Salverton, I must apologize--"

"Headmaster, I believe we've seen enough." First to finish a sentence, the third professor flicked his wand casually at the device. Reese felt herself pulled back towards it, too quickly to do more than gape; the last thing she heard was, "Clearly a Sue."

A floor, not entirely even and rather grimed, rubbed her cheek slightly as she breathed. Reese became aware of its chill, then her stiff limbs and several distinct aches, as she struggled to sit up. She must have dropped several inches once the detector's spell let her go. Glad that being Sue required neither spectacles nor contact lenses, she surveyed her surroundings. Three flickering wall sconces showed thin bunks along the walls of the small room but no other furniture or fixtures. The one door was, of course, firmly shut.

Reese checked to be sure her wand and bracelet remained unbroken. Her duffel seemed to have accompanied her as well, and she pondered it for a moment before shrinking it and tucking it into a shallow skirt pocket. So much for the letters Feld had addressed to various UK wizarding authorities. She stood with care to examine the room but found nothing, not even vermin. Considering the state of the floor, that was fortunate.

Moving painfully to the door at last, she found that its handle turned easily. Then again, better the one you know; she retreated to the corner nearest it and schooled herself to wait. Had Dumbledore contributed to the exchange students' disappearance, or did Chris's potion simply offer possibilities for criminals and bored types on holiday? Mulling over the available evidence, Reese decided she couldn't settle the question yet.

She felt convinced, however, that standing in silence was far from peaceful. She'd catalogued and healed her bruises, fixed the damage to her impractical clothes, and begun counting the cracks in the wall when, with a faint creak, the door swung open.

"Stupefy!"

The person dropped with satisfactory finality. No sense in wanting, and doubtless forgetting, to obliviate him later. Reese congratulated herself on having clutched her patience so tightly while waiting. Now, what did private dicks do in the stories? A few moments' rummage garnered a wand, a few muggle keys, a comb. Not exactly the revelation she'd hoped for, and the man wore no muggle clothing under the faded robes, although the keys--

Perhaps obliviation had its place after all. She brought her captive around, quickly cast Petrificus Totalus, and watched as he tried to cough. All right, he could have control of his head back. "Your name, sir?"

"You don't deserve anything." He coughed again, more deeply, then stared. "Not an American, then? Who--"

"I believe I'll pose the questions. Where are we at the moment?"

"Britain." Reese drew in an almost inaudible breath, then slapped his face hard. "Urgh. All right, near Hogsmeade, you little minx. You'll have come in by the master's device?"

She waited, face blank. It was a good day for patience if he kept asking questions like these.

"Fine then, you must've, you can't have marched in through the.... Bugger. Should've been quicker." She gestured at him with her wand, and he added sullenly, "I was meant to obliviate you, of course."

Eventually Reese pieced together that her interlocutor had noted a new arrival and shown up to obliviate and reclothe her prior to sending her to the Ministry. Hmm. The Sneakoscope had lain quiet through their meandering conversation, but she'd developed a strong wish for legilimens training. "What's the Ministry want with the likes of me?"

"Most of your friends have gone quietly, but they're just as gorgeous as you, my dear. Won't you let me up? Ah, bloody hell," he added as she hit him again. "All right, all right. I been told to make good use of you cheeky br-- Americans, and serving the Ministry is good use, eh?"

Reese tipped him a contemptuous glance and studied her nails for a moment. Chris really had done an amazing job with the potion. Asking what the man meant by "serving" could wait, lest she lost her temper--and perhaps they'd merely become tea ladies and cloakroom attendants. Perhaps. She remembered to flip her hair. "Do I look like I'd care?"

"No, frankly, but you did ask. Look, you can't keep me like this; I'll be missed." She saw his eyes narrow. "Why does your wand work, anyway? We blocked... oh, bugger."

Reese smiled sweetly and leaned forward, noting his involuntary grin, then cast Obliviate and Stupefy in quick succession. For good measure she coaxed a drop from one of Chris's little vial-charms into the man's mouth. The end of the world might rouse him if it should occur during the next ten hours, but a Finite wouldn't, now, so she released the body-bind. Blocked. Whoever ran this game must have some authority if they could keep registered British wands from functioning here and, further, if several exchange students were being placed in the Ministry without internal curiosity or complaint.

If her captive would be missed, that was one thing. Reese didn't anticipate spending the rest of the day with him in this miserable room where--presumably--the kids would sleep later. She fumbled for another vial and watched as the man's shape wavered. Once it had stabilized, a blond teenager lay in place of her middle-aged charge, and she levitated him under the thin duvet of the nearest bunk. What else--ah. She checked for wards along the door; finding none, she slipped quietly outside the room. Any squeak would be attributed to the man's departure.

Soon Reese had verified, to her surprise, that the small building was quite deserted. The modest kitchen contained no house elves, and its two high windows showed no one nearby outside. She keyed a locator charm to Dumbledore, then McGonagall, then Rosmerta at The Three Broomsticks and Tom at The Leaky Cauldron. The building was just outside Hogsmeade, as her captive had said, a relief for someone not intimately familiar with wizarding London's geography. On the other hand, the Ministry didn't have offices in Hogsmeade, did it? After a quick rummage through the kitchen pantry for bread and inferior cheese, Reese left her plate on the counter as a house-elf lure.

Quite some time later--she'd given up keeping track--she frowned at her stiff, aching limbs and wished someone would appear. The problem with playing detective was that tense waiting shot one's nerves; playing Sue atop that fit like wearing a duster over a summer-weight party frock. Reese grinned humourlessly at the inverted analogy. Next she'd be arguing with herself, save for that dratted need for silence. Why couldn't they have dispatched her on a rescue mission that used her research specialties instead of her convenient proximity to physical youth? There were other jobless wizards under thirty, and likely some wouldn't even need Chris's potion. She set about distracting herself with detective scenarios that involved seventeenth-century uses of blood charms, or the two most influential methods (from a historical perspective) of transfiguring fabric for clothing.

At last. Several muffled voices, arguing heatedly, approached the door. Reese braced herself.